The Imperfect Gardener

by Adina Sara

Guilt-Free Gardening

I was recently introduced to a new Laurel resident, who hoped I could offer her some friendly neighborhood gardening advice. She is a novice gardener, and when I say novice, I mean she doesn't know a bulb from an annual. She told me she was feeling intimidated by what she described as a huge shrub blocking the window of her new home. When I questioned her about this offensive bit of landscaping, it became clear that what she had was a leggy, woody, and probably very old shrub that had long ago lost any aesthetic attributes. In addition, it was situated so that it blocked light into her living room and made it difficult for her to reach her mailbox.

"Why don't you just pull it out?" I suggested. She looked at me like I was Attila the Gardener. "But it's huge," she defended, "probably planted when the house was built," as though that gave it some sort of right of eminent domain. Clearly, this innocent new homeowner had not yet learned that gardeners have a fundamental right to change the course of nature in their own backyards, with the exception of major trees.

Although planting and developing may be more fun, knowing what to remove, or at least cut down to size, is every bit as important. I have watched with fascination since an unidentified species of mallow appeared on my patio two years ago. I have trained it to become a sort of tree, clipping the bottom branches, and enjoy its springtime purple blooms. But we both know it's not a tree, just a biennial that thinks it's a tree; and one of these years I am going to have to get rid of it despite its whimsical personality. Lots of gardeners would have pulled it years ago, but I am one who likes to see what happens when strange plants arrive of their own accord. Still, it wasn't meant to be there; it doesn't belong there; and its day will come. Guilt-free.

A friend gave me a bag of unidentified bulbs several years back. I'm a sucker for freebies, and so I planted them everywhere. They looked like they might be daffodils, so I kept hope alive while they continued to sprawl limp and uninteresting. For years I've been watching the leaves grow stringier and stringier, offering never so much as a day's bloom. I finally had to take matters in hand, and yanked every last one. It felt only a little cruel, but mostly wonderful, to release large new areas of tillable soil to make room for the next possibilities.

Landscape ideas don't have to live forever. My medicinal herb garden was a hobby that provided me with years of enjoyment. It has become an overgrown monster of comfrey, mugwort (do not ever plant either of these for any reason), and thick-limbed lavender. It was fun for a while, but now I'm thinking woodsy. Some native ferns, maybe a few Dicentra spectabilis, "bleeding heart," that droops pink heart-shaped flowers against a backdrop of feathery fine leaves. Like a pallet painted over, the joy of gardening is as much about change as it is about beauty.

Favorite Things

Every once in a while I run across a plant that does more than the nursery tag promises. Calibrachoa, a low-growing flowering shrub in the petunia family, is such a plant. The tag says annual, but I have one in a pot on the deck that has come back for the third straight year soft sprawl of leaves and a mass of yellow, apricot, and cream flowers. I just got another one, all red, that is already promising to outbloom its multicolored cousin. Sometimes five dollars can go a very long and lovely way.

The April column included an incorrect e-mail address. So for those who attempted to share their plants, please try again. This time, send your requests and offerings to imperfectgardens\@attbi.com.